Aye, Cap'n Kirkland!
by Vivaldi-Chan
Summary: A certain young Nation finds a picture of another Nation from a time when he was most decidedly not like the Kingdom we all know and love today. That's not to say that our young Nation doesn't like it.
1. Who Drew It, Anyway?

I am really horrid at summeries...Anyway, this crappy little thing was inspired by this magnificent work of art; www dot deviantart dot com/art/APH-AHOY-Cap-n-Arthur-147615741

Don't you just want to drool?! o.o

_I in no way own Hetalia or any of the characters herein. If only, if only..._

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Alfred stood hunched over the seemingly empty steamer trunk, in the dusty attic, with a old, rough piece of parchment stretched out in his hands. If anyone were in the attic with him they would kindly point out that the United States' mouth was hanging open and there seemed to be a tad bit of drool. There was no one, thank God, for if there was it would be Arthur since it was in his attic that Alfred found himself, and it was a remarkably good sketch of the UK that Alfred was drooling over.

To be specific, it was an old sketch of him when he was known as Captain Kirkland. The man sat looking straight ahead, with a finger almost, almost, touching the tongue that peeked from between smug lips. A captain's hat pressed down his dark blonde spikes. He looked so utterly confident that Alfred thought he would step from the page and begin slicing away at him with the cutlass he noticed was nestled on the man's hip. His eyes were intense and, fuck, Alfred would give anything to have the man look at him like that, so in control and so sexy-

"What the bloody hell are you doing up here!?"

"A-Arthur!" Alfred shot straight up, quickly shoving the sketch behind his back and hurriedly attempting to fix his pants so as to not show the tightening he had begun to feel. From a goddamn picture. What the hell was wrong with him-?

"Alfred, why are you in my attic? I could understand you wandering around downstairs, you never could keep your damn hands to yourself, but why the attic? There's nothing up here except - What's that in your hands?" Arthur interrupted himself when he noticed Alfred was hiding something. He should have seen it before, the younger Nation was displaying all the old signs of guilt. Arthur felt a pang of remembrance for the time when this man was his. His younger brother, his colony, his…his everything. Arthur shook his head to clear the silly aches from him, for Alfred was speaking again,

"Nothing! I was just curious. The door was open, and I'd never been up here before, and-"

He was cut off as Arthur took a step forward. He took a step back. "Do you have a fever? Your face is bright red…" The shorter Nation lifted a hand and pressed it to Alfred's forehead. "You are burning up!" He leaned forward to press his lips to the man's forehead as well, because he had read somewhere that that was a more accurate way than using the back of the hand, when Alfred jerked back again and immediately hit the old trunk, falling on his rear end. Arthur's eyes narrowed at the trunk before he swept down and picked up the parchment Alfred had dropped.

"I haven't seen this thing in years…" He glanced down at the younger man who hadn't moved from the floor. Arthur's eyes widened comically as he took in the now obvious tightness in Alfred's slacks and the soft panting coming from his mouth. He had no time to say anything before Alfred had jumped up and fled from the room, down the elaborate stairs of Arthur's home and to the large front door. Once Arthur made it down he saw that Alfred was fumbling with the locks in his panic.

"Oi! Calm down, lad."

Clearly hearing his voice was not the best way to calm him down, because Alfred made a sort of "Eeep!" sound and twirled around, back against the cool door, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Or an animal about to be eaten by a jungle cat. Or maybe he wanted Arthur to eat him, nice and slowly and - _No! Bad Alfred!_ he thought to himself.

"We need to talk about this," Arthur was saying as he walked toward him. A hand was lazily ruffling hair, and his luscious lips were turned down in a frown. _No_, he thought again. _Not luscious. The old man is NOT luscious. Or sexy. Or…or…Rape-able…_

"No we don't! Not at all. I'll be going now." Alfred managed to force out in his still growing panic. He had to get out of here before he did something foolish.

"No. We do. It's…It's perfectly natural thing, and we really need to do it. Talk about it, I mean!" Now Arthur's face began to heat as he inadvertently said something that could be taken entirely wrong. "A-about this, your, ahem, reaction, and-"

"You make me horny!"

The silence echoed around the entryway. Alfred stared at the ground, desperately hoping it would swallow him whole, and certainly not entertaining any thoughts of Arthur swallowing him whole, no, of course not. And Arthur…Well. Arthur was trying to keep the shock and embarrassment from showing on his face.

"It's your own fucking fault." Arthur looked up in shock. "That damn picture. Who the hell were you looking at like _that_?! You looked like you were about to fuck the brains out of some lucky sonuva-" Alfred clamped his mouth shut as he realized what he'd said. His mouth opened to correct what he'd said, to justify it, to -

"Oh, do shut up." Lips were pressed against lips and Alfred thought he must be drunk and having a dream because this couldn't be happening, not after all those years of hoping for Arthur just to look at him with a little bit of longing. Alfred's tongue slid along Arthur's lower lip. _Let me in. Let me in. Let me in. Oh god. He fucking _mewed.

Tongues fought for dominance as Arthur's lips slid open. Alfred nipped at one of those luscious lips - Yeah he fucking said it. _Luscious_. He was only vaguely aware that he was being pressed back against the door. Arthur's lips and his leg between his, and the sweet, sweet friction were the only things Alfred was aware of. His hips bucked inadvertently and suddenly Arthur was pulling back, away from him and Alfred wondered what had happened, what he'd done wrong.

"One moment," Arthur whispered with kiss swollen lips. Then he was gone, back up the stairs, and Alfred was left with a raging hard on in the front of Arthur's house.


	2. Is That A Pun I See?

Once alone with only his thoughts, Alfred began to realize exactly what had just happened. He'd been making out with the old man in front of the god damn doorway, pinned to the wood like some little school girl. He was a hero, damn it, and no one pinned him! He wasn't a...a.. an uke! Yeah, that's what Kiku said it was called…He wasn't an uke! Arthur was probably about to come back down those stairs with a gun to shoot him for molesting him. Oh, sweet lord, he had to get out of there! With a decidedly girlish squeal he flung open the door despite the pouring rain as he heard footsteps on the landing. Alfred rushed out and into his waiting car and was long gone by the time Arthur stepped into the entry way in full pirate regalia, with a smile on his lips.

"How's this - Alfred?" Arthur blinked at the empty home. Where'd that brat get to now? Arthur noticed the open door and he dropped into a chair. His shoulders slumped. "Stupid, stupid git. I should have known." Of course Alfred didn't want him like that. He'd been told often enough that he used to be quite the handsome man back in his naval days, but now. Now he was just an old nation who's bones creaked when he stood up after sitting too long, who was world-weary and jaded, who most certainly didn't deserve any affection Alfred would possibly want to give him. Arthur had had this conversation with the frog once, when he noticed his feelings for his colony had been straying towards a direction that was most inappropriate. It wasn't like he had meant for it to happen. It was all Alfred's fault! The boy had hit puberty and begun to grow into a young man.

It wasn't until he had shamelessly stripped out of his trousers - already having divested himself of his shirt earlier in the hot and muggy day - and dove into the pond out by the house that Arthur had realized just how much he had grown. Alfred's body had been all wet, lanky planes of sinewy muscle and tanned skin and when he'd popped his little head out of the water to smile at him with those big, cerulean eyes he thought he would have a heart attack. Instead he'd had to turn and rush to the bathroom like he was the one who was suddenly in the thrust of puberty. How shameful, to have to hide in his own damn house because he was a horrible man. No one should feel such things towards their younger siblings or, God forbid, their son. Especially not a gentleman such as him. The next day while Alfred was once again wandering the grounds half naked and Arthur had spent some more time getting friendly with the inner workings of his bathroom, he'd called that French bastard and told him he was going insane. At the time Arthur had thought Francis would know what to do, him being an incurable git and pervert. Instead the only thing he'd been offered was roaring laughter. He'd hung up immediately.

Now, though. Maybe it would be worth it to call him again. He needed somebody to talk to. It was sad that the frog was the only one he could think of. With a sigh Arthur began trudging back up to the attic to put away the silly clothes before he started to feel like even more of an idiot.

An hour later found him clutching the phone in a white-knuckled grasp as Francis once again laughed at him. Arthur just barely managed to not slam the bloody thing down or chuck it against the wall. It had taken half of the hour just to connect. He'd kept stopping just as it started to ring.

"Ah, that may be the best joke I have heard all year!"

"Sh-shut up!"

"Non, I will not." Francis's voice took on a serious note, one Arthur wasn't use to hearing, "Listen, petit oiseau, the heart wants what the heart wants."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, and if you had even one leeetttle romantic bone in your body you would know, that it does not matter who it is you love. Age, race, gender! Non, it does not matter! The fires of passion can't be extinguished by anyone! You must embrace it! Cherish it! We live a very long time, mon moineau, and when we find that which entices us…We must cling to it! C'est amour!"

He hung up a moment later, before Arthur could say anything else.

The rest of the day was spent bemoaning his own fate and sulking in the attic. He had to resist the urge to kick the trunk holding his pirate clothing and the picture. He knew who had drawn it, of course. Arthur couldn't possibly forget. At the time he had simply been a captivating crew member. Later he went on to become his first mate; in both senses of the word. He was the man who taught Arthur how…pleasurable…life could be. Arthur left him as soon as he began showing signs of aging. That was the trouble with having relationships with normal folk. They got old, they aged, and eventually they died, and yet the Nations continued to stand. Granted, the UK wasn't as spry as he'd once been, but he certainly wasn't a greying old man.

With a quiet groan he trudged down the stairwell, snatching his coat from a rack and wandering to his little smart car in the rain. If today was going to insist upon being such a horrible day then the least he could do was drown it in alcohol at the pub. He stopped dead on entering, however. Sitting at the bar with his head dropped to the wood was a familiar splash of blonde hair. Arthur's chest felt tight and constricted. Maybe if he slowly backed away and closed the door he could get home free-

"Arrther!"

Shit.

"C'meer, Arthur! Join meh for a drink!"

Double shit.

"I do not think that's the best of ideas, lad. I think I'll be on my way…" Arthur started backtracking as the obviously very drunk American stumbled his way to loom over him. Bullocks, but he was so big! Since when did he grow so tall? He mentally asked in a desperate attempt at distracting himself. The way Alfred had his arm slung over his shoulder was decidedly disturbing. But in a good way. Which meant it was obviously a bad way. Drat, he was confusing himself!

"Noo, no. You gotta' drink with me, Arty!"

Arty?

"I think not. Honestly I think you need to head on back to your hotel. You never did tell me why you were here, anyway." Arthur shifted guiltily. The warmth was seeping down into his bones. Wrong, wrong, so wrong. Stop this, Arthur!

"Jus' wanted te' visit ya, Arty. I missed ya. We don' talk much anymo'. Always pretendin' like I don' exist an' all. Thought ya' could a' least preten' like ya' don't hate me." Alfred shoved him down into a bar stool and proceeded to stare at him with eerily clear eyes for having words that slurred. It sounded as if Alfred was taking on some of the accents from his Southern states.

"I do not hate you. It is just best to stay p-proffessional." Sweet Lord, move your hand, move your hand! The bloody arse doesn't even seem to realize it's on my thigh! The elder Kingdom didn't like where this was going.

He wouldn't be thinking that if he knew what was to come.


End file.
